Chapter Ten
The rusty bells hanging on the door chimed in welcome as Ilse walked inside Byron & Company, a bookstore-cum-café that took up ground floor space of one of RLD’s oldest buildings. Open twenty-four hours, the store had become a refuge of sorts for Ilse, and right now she needed that.
Mr. Peters, the gray-haired shop owner, looked up from behind the register the moment she entered, and he nodded curtly to her in greeting. “Done with the tours?” he questioned with a grunt.
“Ja, mijnheer.” She didn’t mind his gruff tone at all, knowing that under the tough, wizened exterior was a lovely man who preferred to spend most of his time with books because he didn’t know how to make friends.
“A new Austen edition arrived,” he informed her.
Ilse perked up. “I’ll check it out.”
He grunted.
“Thanks for telling me!”
But Mr. Peters had already turned his back on her, having gone back to reviewing the receipts in his hands.
Ilse took her time strolling down the aisle, her gaze drifting from one tall, wooden bookshelf to another.
By the time she reached the classics section, she heard the bells chime out once more and wondered absently about what kind of person would have a need to visit a bookstore in RLD at two in the morning.
Maybe that person was like her, unable to find escape in sleep.
Or maybe she was being too fanciful, and the newcomer only wanted a cup of coffee.
Taking a left on the last aisle, she immediately spotted the new book Mr. Peters had spoken of. There you are, Ilse thought. As she reached for the book with the pretty floral cover, she caught a glimpse of the shadow moving on the carpet.
The newcomer, Ilse realized absently. And judging by the look and length of it, Mr. Peters’ customer was a rather tall man. How surprising. Majority of De Wallen’s tourists might be males, but book shopping was unlikely on top of their priorities.
Walking away, Ilse concentrated on perusing the book, running her fingers over the embossed book jacket to have a feel of its texture. Pausing midway to the register, she was in the act of slipping the jacket off to check the book’s actual cover when she realized that she was being followed.
Ilse frowned. Go away, pervert.
But the shadow behind her remained.
She took several steps forward and almost stiffened when the shadow moved as well.
Her gaze flew to Mr. Peters, but the old man once again had his back to her and appeared completely engrossed with his bookkeeping.
Ilse slowly and cautiously took a step forward, and the shadow moved accordingly. She took a step back, and when the shadow retreated as well, Ilse nearly threw her hands up in frustration.
Everything comes in threes, they had said. And she supposed this was her third gift from the department of men trouble. A pervert – or even worse, a stalker – to serve as the cherry on top, following right after Issac, and—-
And that was when she sensed it.
Something familiar, a kind of heat that made her heart beat hard and ache at the same time.
The book dropped from her fingers, landing on the carpet in a silent thud.
The shadow started to move.
And she knew.
And didn’t know what to do.
“Jaak.” His name tumbled down her tongue, and when the shadow came to a sudden stop, it was as if the world had stopped turning with it.
“Ilse.”
Even though she had expected to hear it, the way the sound of his voice wrapped around her senses still made Ilse’s eyes drift close for a moment.
Jaak.
Jaak was here.
Jaak was really here.
She wanted to turn around so she could look at him, but her legs simply refused to move. She wanted to say so many things, but her throat refused to work. The only thing in her body that functioned right now was her heart, and only because it was still hurting.
Tension tightened into a painful knot in the billionaire’s chest as he stared at Ilse’s still form. He used to live his life without uncertainties, but now he knew it wasn’t like that at all. He had never hesitated on anything because he had never cared enough.
But now he did, and now he had no fucking idea what was the right thing to do.
Do I go to you, Ilse?
Do I wait for you?
Do I walk away?
But then she started to move, away from him—-
And the billionaire acted without thinking, spurred only by one simple, essential thought.
He could not lose her again.
“Wait.” The word seemed to arrest her on the spot, and he was glad for it. He moved towards her, and she remained still.
And when their eyes met, their worlds started to turn again, softly, slowly, in unison, almost as if it was the way it should be.
Jaak. Jaak. Jaak. His name played over and over in Ilse’s mind as the billionaire filled her vision. He looked as sophisticated as always, with a black topcoat over his suit and his hand-stitched leather shoes sporting fancy, intricate lines on the edges.
He looked the same, but he also looked different, his handsome face marked with unusual lines of tension.
And as she stared at him, Ilse realized belatedly that he had been doing the same.
“I must look like a fright,” Ilse muttered, thinking of how she only had her old tattered parka over the nurse’s uniform and her only pair of boots.
She tried not to be self-conscious about it, but it was hard.
In all the days he had been gone, it was impossible not to let news of the billionaire get to her, and she had known he had been with women far, far more glamorous than she could ever be.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” The billionaire had wanted the words to come out a relaxed, teasing drawl, but he realized too late that he had overestimated his ability to remain in control.
Tension still managed to permeate his tone, and his question came out more abruptly and sharply than he intended. When he saw Ilse jerk, his fists clenched and he cursed in his mind at how he was fucking it all up.
“I’m sorry,” he said tautly. “I didn’t mean to sound offensive.”
“But you were.” Ilse’s tone was flat.
“Because you’re an idiot—-”
She gasped, and this time he cursed out loud.
He was supposed to be the most dazzlingly charming of all the de Konigh men, and yet right now all he could do was insult Ilse and say one wrong fucking thing after another.
Jaak shoved his hands into his coat’s pockets. “I’m sorry.” And still the words came out harshly.
“You don’t sound like it,” Ilse accused.
“Because,” he snarled, “I feel too much, and it’s making it impossible to think.” When Ilse’s eyes widened, he knew he had shocked her, and he almost laughed, thinking, You and me, babe. You and me. He had never imagined that things could get this complicated, this deep, but it was, and even so—-
He slowly took a step forward, his chest squeezing as he gave her all the time of the world to run away from him.
But she didn’t.
“Ilse.” He spoke her name hoarsely, and ah God, just saying it already felt too much, felt like it was more than he deserved. But even knowing that, he just couldn’t let go.
“I fucked up,” he said unevenly. “You were saying things that I didn’t want to hear.
You were forcing me to think of things I didn’t want to think, and I fucked up.
It was like being struck by temporary insanity—-” He waited for her to say something, but she only gazed at him with brown eyes that seemed too painfully bright, and Jaak sucked in his breath.
Am I too late, Ilse?
Am I no longer someone you can trust?
Am I supposed to walk away?
And just when he thought it was the end, he heard her speak.
“Are you sure it’s temporary?” A smile wobbled on her lips as she delivered the joke in an unwieldy tone that cracked just a little at the end, but still she didn’t look away from him, her too-bright eyes answering all his unspoken questions.
No, you’re not too late.
I still trust you.
And I don’t want you to walk away.